Joanna and Carlee
by Arkylie Killingstad
Summary: When Carol Burton, vulnerable schoolteacher, had turned out to be Carlee Elias, mob boss, Reese had been caught entirely off guard. Of course, by now, they're friends, of a sort, not that either one stays out of trouble.


_Another genderswap fic, this time starring Joanna Reese and Carlee Elias. Content Warning: Mention of drug use, allusions to child abuse (possibly sexual). Canon-typical violence, mostly offscreen._

* * *

An ingrained refusal to back down, even in the face of overwhelming numbers, had led to the rougher part of Joanna's teenage years—the reason she'd been forced into the service to begin with, and got to experience not just the horrors of combat but multiple stints with torture (both giving and receiving). Thanks to all that, she's used to getting beaten up… and shot, and stabbed, and electrocuted, and drugged, just to name a few perks of the job. She's used to finding ways to get past the pain and deal with the situation, and she knows, as intimately as she knows how to field-strip her SIG, how to shut down the lizard part of her brain enough to keep from betraying her position with gasps and whimpers, or even heavy breathing.

So getting shot a few minutes ago hasn't slowed her down, and she's not worried about the way her expensive blouse is slowly turning red all down the arm; she knows what she can take.

What's surprising, though, is that Elias turns out to be just as good at hiding her pain. Aside from the trembling lips (still trying to smile) and the overall tension, you wouldn't know that the woman had even been hit.

As Joanna works to staunch the bleeding, her thoughts go back to the first time they met: demure, self-effacing Carol Burton, so innocently removed from the dangerous world that Joanna had been rescuing her from. At least, that was Joanna's first impression of her.

 _Carol, please—Miss Burton is for my students._

But then Carol had started talking about the fears she lived with daily: the Russians, the Bulgarians, even a police force that would more likely harm you than help you. And her desire to help her students escape that world and get to college, find better roles in life than maintaining a generations-long turf war.

As it turned out, though, playing with the assumptions that others made about her was one of Elias's most powerful skills. Just a few hours later, 'Carol' had turned out to be Carlee, holding Joanna at gunpoint before she casually shot their hostage just to "deliver a message" to the guy's dad.

 _The benefits of no one knowing who you are or what you look like… among other pertinent info. That's gone now, I suppose. It's time to evolve; I'm ready for the next step._

Then she'd pushed the cinnamon curls out of her eyes and flatly declared her intention to take over Brighton Beach.

Far too late to catch up to Elias before she'd disappeared, Joanna had stalked back to Finch in a towering rage, ranting about being caught off guard that way. _It's my fault she's out there, Finch. We just saved a woman whose only goal in life is revenge._

The full picture, though, had been even more grim. Further investigation into Carlee Giovanna Elias had turned up the kind of environment that no kid should have to go through. During the same years that Joanna had been growing up in Tacoma, working up the courage to ride a roller coaster, Carlee had been stuck in the group homes that followed the demise of the Brooklyn orphanages. In that world, she'd borne up under regular beatings… and worse. The paper trail had been scant, but there was enough to read between the lines.

And Joanna's hands, trying to save the woman's life, are tracing the confirmation under her blouse: old scars, plentiful and deep, and that's just what's visible on the surface. No wonder she'd been so earnestly fervent about getting those kids to find a better life… even if that hadn't been her _primary_ goal in becoming their teacher.

Where Carol, trying to look vulnerable and harmless, had whimpered over getting shot and flinched away from Joanna's attempts at first aid, Carlee bites back the sounds of pain like she's used to staying quiet; Joanna can't help but picture a childhood where calling attention to a bruise or even a broken bone meant getting a matching set.

"Too bad there's no cocaine this time," Elias says with a grimace, a little strained; she lolls her head back against the wall, her eyes a bit too bright as she peers down her nose to watch Joanna work.

"You know," Joanna says, "with all the lies you told me that day… were you being honest about the drugs?"

"What, that I"—she winces, sucking in a little air between her teeth—"never did drugs?" Her grin's a bit too bright, too, and she's starting to pant, still not making a sound. "One time. Each. Not… not the worst ones. Krokodil or bath salts, I wasn't _that_ stupid. Not saying I wasn't stupid, though. But I wanted to know… what it was doing to people. Why people kept using it. And what _I'd_ be doing to people, if I got into drug-running. Didn't want to go in blind."

There's a hint of danger glittering in Joanna's expression now, but she tries to focus on the task at hand. At least the bullet went clean through. Again.

"Figured a year would be enough time to clear out my brain. So I got a new drug each year. Cocaine. Heroin. Ecstasy. Meth." She grinned. "Shrooms. That was fun. Made me want to hunt down those hallucinogenic toads.

"I was careful with the suppliers, paid good prices, made sure the stuff I got wasn't cut with more dangerous substances. And I never allowed myself more than one dose. Had Tonya hold me to it, and always made sure that I had a big project to distract myself with until the craving went away.

"You know the funny thing? The ones I didn't bother with are the common vices. Nicotine. Caffeine. Marijuana, even. Didn't figure I needed to."

She's shivering now, her voice as well as her body. Maybe she's lost more blood than Joanna thought. Or maybe the pain's worse than she wants to let on.

"You think they're… gone now?" Elias asks, closing her eyes.

"Not likely," Joanna replies. "But Fusco should be here soon."

Elias's grin is pained, her breath coming in short jerks. "You know… Joanna… you're a better friend than I expected. When you turned me down… have to say, I was disappointed. Just a little. Just those few hours together… I thought you were a gal worth knowing. And I was right, too. Just… never expected… I'd get the chance to know you like this. Not after what I did to you. What I had to do."

"Are you hit anywhere else?" Joanna asks, brows drawing together.

Elias answers with a chuckle. "What, I need to be dying to talk like this? You're a good woman, Jo. You need to know that. I don't think you often see yourself that way, but you are."

* * *

Before Joanna can really parse the words, there are more threats to take care of, more gunfire to exchange, more helping Elias stumble along until they find better shelter and, eventually, meet up with Fusco, who gets to play the white knight for once.

But later, in the not-exactly-dark that is as close as New York gets when your loft has floor-to-ceiling windows, Joanna lies sleepless, the words playing through her head. _A good woman_ , appraisal by Carlee Elias. How much is that even worth?

And how long has it been since Joanna could see herself as any sort of "good"?

* * *

 _The part I find most amusing is the Carl/Carlee, Charlie/Carol bit. Because Carl Elias (mob boss) is definitely Carlee, not Carol, while Charlie Burton (schoolteacher) is definitely Carol, not Carlee, and yet the linguistic connections here would make Carl/Carol and Charlie/Carlee more obvious. That's the distinction between form and connotation._


End file.
